Birth to Death
by The Atomic Cafe
Summary: A series of Mac and Stella drabbles.


**Birth to Death**

**By Dimgwrthien**

Disclaimer: I do not own CSI: NY or affiliates.

**Desktop**

Stella leans against my desk and picks up one of the metal sculptures. It's a metal puzzle that had been hanging together with a second one. Her only movement is to raise an eyebrow.

"It's a lock," I answer, taking it from her. "Shang Dynasty, China. It's called the 'Patience Puzzle'." I look over the rings for a moment and slowly solve it. It takes less than three minutes to disconnect the shuttle from the rings. I hold them both up.

"Doesn't look like it needs a lot of patience," she jokes.

"Some of us don't have that much patience."

* * *

**CDs**

Mac dials the car repairman on the phone for me at his apartment. It's been too cold to want to move, but I can't keep still. My hands are like cold fire, and I need to reach out for something. It's nervousness and the cold, a combination that has been deadly before.

I reached out at the nearest thing - a collection of cassettes and CDs. They're piled high and seem to be in alphabetical order. I look over them. Most are Zeppelins and music from the eighties. I smile and look over to where he is, talking slowly on the phone. Only Mac.

* * *

**Perfume**

I uncover my nose as we exit the crime scene. The rancid smell of gangrene never seems to improve, no matter how many discarded limbs and rotting bodies I find. Sometimes I have to wonder what heavenly body decided to make them smell so bad and give me such a sensitive nose. _God, are you listening?_

I turn to my partner-in-preventing-crime, my equal. We haven't worked together in a long time, I know, and it's comforting to be together, yelling across the room for _please hand me my case!_

I smell and am confused. "Mac, is that perfume?"

"Cologne," he mutters.

* * *

**Greek Festival**

It breaks my heart as I watch Stella at the Greek Festival. She grins at me as often as she meets my gaze and never lasts more than a second without that look in her eyes I love. I've never been a poetic man and could never compare a woman to the sun, but Stella makes me want to.

I glance down at the table in between us and return her smile. She still has a grin and tells me how much she's enjoyed this, I really enjoy your company, Mac, thanks for taking me, I love this.

I can't quite tell her I hate gyros.

* * *

**Sunrise**

Everyone thinks Mac has insomnia. In truth, he does, and some of us have had to deal with it more than others. There's just one thing that most of them don't realize.

I stand behind him in the office. It can't even be five in the morning yet, but I knew that he'd be in here now. He stands calmly in front of the window.

From where I stand, I can see part of the sun rising over the buildings. They cast his back into shadow, but I know it's illuminating his face. I always watch him in silence.

"Hey, Stella."

* * *

**Shattered Glass**

"He needs to learn how to control himself," I sigh as I watch Danny inside the lab. He's still with his dog and the shattered glass. The boy doesn't seem to know when to quit when it comes to testing.

"Give him a break. He just wants to prove that they could have shattered the glass."

"How many times does he need to test it? No stress marks, no outside influence. Case closed."

Stella smirks at me. "He's trying."

Danny pressed a button and watches the new piece of glass eagerly as the dog barks. The walls of the lab explode.

* * *

**Medal of Death**

When Mac is outside of his office, I slip in and put down some of the results on his desk. He never minds me in there. I want to talk to him, but I know he'll be a few minutes.

I look around the walls, see the decorated awards. Mac was never the man to be prideful of his job, but they make for nice office decorations.

I finger a medal from the Marines. It had to hurt him inside to receive it when someone else died for him to.

Mac enters and I drop it. Best not to remind him.

* * *

**Soldier Figurine**

We stand to the side of the crime scene, watching the paramedics carry out the middle-aged body of Timothy Bruin. I glance at Stella, who has her eyes fixed in the opposite direction of Timothy. I thought it was to avoid him, but she's watching a child. He's alone with a small soldier figurine in one hand. Not a toy.

She approaches him, asks where his parents are, and leads him to the police when he answers _I don't know_. Stella has the soldier figurine in one hand and I can see the blood on it. I close my eyes.

She doesn't say, "Bet these are familiar," or even comments. She just bags the figurine and looks away.


End file.
